


pound of flesh

by salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will, Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex on a Horse, Top Hannibal, a lot more tags to be added, hannibal is a warlord, will is an exile, yes thats a thing now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 11:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6115376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And so you were sent away,” Hannibal concluded, brushing his thumb over Will’s lower lip.  “That’s what I want from you, Will.  I didn’t bring a bedwarmer with me.  You can be mine, and I will feed you and clothe you and you will be safe in my camp.  Or you can walk away right now, and I will tell my men not to harm you as you leave, and you can try to find food and survive the thieves and murderers that haunt the road.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>His thumb stilled, resting in the centre of Will’s lip as silence fell between them, and Will closed his eyes so the tears that welled wouldn’t fall.  He knew his answer, though; what choice did he have?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pound of flesh

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent, totally shameless smut. There's no plot to be had; I just wanted warlord!Hannibal and vulnerable Will in his debt. Tags will be added as we go along.

“My lord, we found this man trying to steal from the food cart.”

Hannibal turned as the man in question was deposited on the ground at his feet, thin and dirty and wide-eyed with fear, trembling with hunger.  He went still as he recognised the face beneath the streaked mud; the pretty fiddler from the court three days ride behind them.  Hannibal had watched him play long into the evening, his music sweet and alluring, his face even more so.  He was nimble-fingered and full-lipped, and had he belonged to Hannibal’s household, he’d have taken him to bed long ago.

“This is a surprise,” Hannibal said pleasantly, ignoring the shocked glance the two guards who’d brought the fiddler in exchange.  “Leave us,” he directed at them a moment later, pleased by the way the fiddler’s blue eyes went round, his head coming up a little as he fought not to turn and watch the two leave.  

As they opened the flap to the tent, the smell of cooking stew wafted in, and the fiddler’s breath left him in a rush.  A moment later, and Hannibal was alone with him.

“Your name is William, is it not?” he asked, stepping forward so that when the boy looked at him, he had to tilt his head at a pleasing angle.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” the boy breathed.  “Will.  Will Graham.  I remember you.”

“And I you,” Hannibal returned, smiling sharply.  “Your crime was the talk of the court.  And your punishment.”

Will swallowed.  “Please,” he says.  “I’m starving.  I only need a little—”

“I do not tolerate theft in my camp, Will,” Hannibal spoke over him, staring down impassively.  

Will flinched.  “I’m sorry,” he said at once.  “ _Please_.”

Hannibal very much liked hearing him beg.  He wondered if Will had begged to stay when they trialled him in court, when they sentenced him to exile for the crime of warming the prince’s bed.  It was a backwards place, Quantico, but it had done Hannibal the favour of planting one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen right at his feet, desperate and vulnerable.  

He had absolutely no qualms about using that to his advantage.  

“I do not have the supplies to feed any straggler who steals into my camp,” Hannibal drawled, as though indifferent to Will’s plight.  “Those who eat from my hand must work; every man here contributes.  He earns his place.”

“I can work!” Will said at once, blinking up at Hannibal, painfully hopeful.  “I have skills.  My father was a tradesman, I know the laws of all the neighbouring countries, and I can navigate, and I speak several languages, I could translate for you, or write, or play the fiddle to entertain your men,” Will reeled off in a desperate panic.

Hannibal smirked at his phrasing.  It wouldn’t be his men that Will spent his time entertaining.  “Do you think me so ignorant that I do not know how to trade?” he asked, deliberately sharp.  “I have navigators and translators.  Where is your fiddle?”  He made a small show of looking around for it, but the instrument was - of course - nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t have it,” Will admitted quietly.  “I couldn’t bring it.”

“Then how are you to entertain my men?”

Will shook his head, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears.  “Please,” he whispered.  “I can work.”

Hannibal was silent for a long moment, his head tipped as he surveyed Will.  “A fiddler…” he hummed contemplatively.  “You must be good with your hands, Will.”

“Yes,” Will said at once.  “Yes I am.  And I am a fast learner.”

“There may be a place for you,” Hannibal told him, his words slow and considering.  “The work would be more...physical than perhaps you are used to.”

“That’s okay,” Will assured him, and Hannibal could hear the sound his empty stomach made from where he stood.  “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Are you really?” Hannibal asked, lips curling even more.  “This...position.  It would require long hours, often during the night.  You’ll be expected to perform the next day, to keep up with us as we ride, even if you haven’t slept.  You may have to remain on your knees for hours at a time.  It is a very physically demanding role.  You may be bruised and aching, and still expected to work.  Enthusiastically.”

Will nodded and nodded.  “I can handle it,” he swore.  “I can do it.”  Scrubbing floors, he thought.  Washing the tents, digging holes, making food, polishing boots and armour - he could do those things and more without complaining, if it meant he could eat.  If it meant he could eat _regularly_.  Will had been lost since he was forced to leave Quantico, his exile a stinging shame and a paralysing fear.  He’d set out because he had to, but he had nothing.  If Lord Lecter would allow him a place here, among his men, safe and fed and with somewhere to sleep - albeit irregularly - then Will wanted it, and it was far, far more than he’d even dared hope for when he was given his sentence.  “What do you want me to do?”

“A great many things, Will,” Hannibal told him, reaching out and taking his jaw in hand, cupping his chin and tilting his head back even more.  “Tell me what you were exiled for.”

He felt Will’s teeth press nervously together but Hannibal didn’t let go.

“I was...I was found with the prince,” Will said hesitantly, eyes scurrying away from Hannibal’s face and skirting over the tent.  

“And what were you doing with the prince?” Hannibal asked, and Will understood.  He swallowed.  

“Something illegal,” he whispered.  

“Were you in his bed, Will?” Hannibal prompted, and Will nodded.  “What were you doing there?”

Will’s breath pulled quickly between his teeth.  “What he asked me to do,” he said.  “He had...tendencies.  He liked to take men.  That’s not allowed, but people still do it.”

“Did those people take you, Will?  Were you the court’s little cockslut?”

Will flushed beet red at the words and shook his head.  “Only the prince.  Only him, only twice.  But they caught us— me.  It’s not allowed.”

“And so you were sent away,” Hannibal concluded, brushing his thumb over Will’s lower lip.  “That’s what I want from you, Will.  I didn’t bring a bedwarmer with me.  You can be mine, and I will feed you and clothe you and you will be safe in my camp.  Or you can walk away right now, and I will tell my men not to harm you as you leave, and you can try to find food and survive the thieves and murderers that haunt the road.”

His thumb stilled, resting in the centre of Will’s lip as silence fell between them, and Will closed his eyes so the tears that welled wouldn’t fall.  He knew his answer, though; what choice did he have?  He’d done it before, at least.

He parted his lips and let Hannibal slide his thumb between them, pressing down on his tongue before hooking over his teeth to tug his mouth open.

“Clever boy,” Hannibal praised lowly, pleased.  “Before we eat, though, I need you to show me that you will be good for me,” he added, pulling his hand away from Will’s mouth and unlacing his breeches with deft fingers.  “Have you done this before?” he asked as he pulled his cock out and took hold of Will’s chin again, guiding him forward.  

Will nodded, quickly wetting his lips before Hannibal pressed the head of his cock to them, nudging against the warm softness of Will’s mouth until he opened it to take him inside.

Hannibal didn’t thrust into the wet heat as he wanted to, keeping his hips in check against the rhythm they immediately wanted to pick up, though he did tangle a hand into Will’s hair to keep his head in place.  He held him there instead of encouraging him further, staring down at the lips stretched around the head of his cock, drinking the sight in.  

“Use your tongue,” Hannibal told him, and Will responded immediately, tongue flicking against Hannibal’s slit, sliding beneath the head and curling against him as his lips pursed, tugging at the grip in his hair as he tried to lean forward.  

Hannibal let him, grasping another handful of curls once more of his cock was inside, Will’s tongue hot and quick and wet against him, laving every inch of skin he could reach.  He was clearly inexperienced, though this was obviously not his first time, but his was a mouth Hannibal would happily spend years teaching how to properly suck him.  The little breathless sounds he was making were enough to make Hannibal want to take him to bed and fuck him immediately, and he suspected that Will wasn’t even aware of them.  He’d have those sounds and more from him before the night was through.  He was definitely going to enjoy this boy.

Will’s eyes were glazed, cheeks burning and hollowed as he sucked, tipping his head back and letting out a slight whimper as Hannibal pressed further inside.  His hands flew up to grab Hannibal’s hips, but that did little to stop his new lord from continuing, pushing inside until Will was choking around him, chest heaving as he gagged.

“Relax,” Hannibal instructed, letting out a long breath of satisfaction before he pulled back enough that Will could take a breath without choking.  He reached for one of Will’s hands, prising it from his hip and guiding it to the coarse hair between his legs, near Will’s mouth.  “Use this as well,” he said.  “Show me just how good you are with your hands.”  Hannibal started him off, pressing Will’s fingers into his balls, easing him into a rhythm with his hand over the boy’s to show him what he liked before he let go, pleased when Will did not so much as falter but kept up the treatment, though his tongue went limp as he focused on the new task.

“Don’t forget to suck,” Hannibal told him, urging Will’s mouth further onto him again with the hand on the back of his skull.  

Will let out a slight hum of confusion as he tried to split his attention equally between his hand and his mouth.  He slid his tongue back along Hannibal’s cock, pushing it against the roof of his mouth as he sucked harder, gagging again when it pressed into the back of his throat.  He tried to pull back, but Hannibal’s hand stopped him.

“You have to learn this, Will,” he told him, unrelenting.  The boy’s throat was so sweetly reluctant to take him any further, fighting the intrusion, closing and pushing, fluttering against Hannibal’s cock as Will sobbed in panic and shifted on his knees, tears slipping from beneath his closed eyelids and dripping off his burning cheeks.

Hannibal pulled back again and Will took great gulping breaths around the cock still in his mouth, lips and chin wet and shiny with his spit and the precum Hannibal had been steadily leaking since the moment he’d first pressed his thumb into Will’s mouth.

“Once more, Will,” Hannibal said, taking Will’s hair in a firmer grip and pulling him forward again, forcing him to tilt his head up so he could push further inside.  

Will’s hand came away from Hannibal’s balls as he set both of them back on the man’s hips, trying to steady himself or stop the intrusion, Hannibal wasn’t sure; he didn’t pause, either way.  Will was gasping, choking wetly around his mouthful, but Hannibal thrust a few times regardless, letting out no more sound than a soft sigh as he spilled down the boy’s throat.

He pulled back a moment later, letting his cock smear come over Will’s lips with his lazy movements before he firmly pressed a hand over Will’s mouth.  “Swallow,” he ordered.

He felt Will’s lips move against his palm and watched the movement in his throat as Will did so, but still when Hannibal took his hand away he arched an eyebrow.  “Show me,” he said, and Will opened his mouth obediently, pink lips now wet and swollen and no trace of Hannibal’s seed left on his tongue.  Hannibal smiled down at him.  “Good boy.”

He tugged on Will’s hair to indicate that he wanted him to get up and Will found his feet at once, wincing as his knees straightened after so long.  “Did you enjoy yourself, Will?” Hannibal asked him, not releasing the curls he had between his fingers.

“Yes, my lord,” Will whispered.

“Good,” Hannibal hummed, letting him go.  “I like your mouth.  I wanted it as soon as I saw you.”  He smiled, hand coming up again as he trailed his fingers over Will’s sticky lips.  “And now I have it.”  He stepped back.  “Come, then.  I’m sure you are hungry.”

Will hurried after him, sticking close once they were past the tent flap.  He kept his eyes on the ground, watching Hannibal’s boot heels as he followed, avoiding the stares of the other men.  Will wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined, but if he kept his gaze down, it wouldn’t matter.  He was too hungry to care enough about his fate to look around, to see what he was now a part of, his entire being reduced to the hollow ache inside him and the thick smell of simmering stew, growing stronger and stronger as he walked.

There were handfuls of men gathered about a fire, pots balanced carefully amongst the flames, boxes, trunks and bales of hay arranged all around in a makeshift dining area.  Will knew that Lord Hannibal had been intending to ride back to his own castle and lands, his business with the king concluded, and they clearly did not intend to remain here for long.

Likely, they would be riding out again tomorrow.  Will didn’t know what to expect of the morning, but he was distracted from thinking about it as Hannibal set a large bowl of the thick stew in his hands and gave him a fistful of hard bread.

“Over here,” he said, making his way to a bale left unoccupied, close to the fire and bathed in warmth and light.  Hannibal sat and spread his legs, his glance at Will pointed.  Will sat between his knees, and so confirmed his new standing to anyone watching.  Hannibal closed his legs until they pressed into Will’s shoulders, not enough to impede him, but enough that the touch was impossible to ignore.  Or, would have been had Will not been so ravenously hungry that the bread and stew were the only two things occupying his entire world at that moment.  

The men surrounding them were talking, their voices low and loud in waves, sometimes lost entirely beneath the crackle of the fire when Will focused on it instead of them.  Occasionally, Hannibal’s voice would rumble out over Will’s head as he spoke to them but Will didn’t think to listen; his mind was too full of worry for what would become of him, and though the stew was delicious, the first food he’d eaten in days, he swore he could still taste come on his tongue.  

This wasn’t the sort of life he’d wanted for himself, and yet somehow he’d ended up in the prince’s bed, and now he’d ended up in Hannibal’s.  What choice did he have, though?  He wouldn’t survive the road alone, and he had nowhere to go.  Will had been wandering, lost and starving, when Hannibal’s men had found him at their food cart.  It was a wonder he hadn’t been killed by thieves on the road.

Will was a survivor, though.  And if this was what it took to survive, he could resolve himself to it.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, and maybe once they reached Hannibal’s lands - when Hannibal had returned to his own whores and bedwarmers in the city and castle he knew - maybe Will would find work there, would carve out a new life for himself.  It wouldn’t be the court behind him, but Will had never been accepted there, anyway; it wasn’t like he was leaving anything behind but shame.

“Are you done, Will?” Hannibal asked, leaning into him as he spoke and looking over Will’s shoulder at the empty bowl still cradled in his hands.

“Yes, my lord,” Will told him, standing as he was urged to his feet.

“Well then,” Hannibal said, lips curling as he handed both of their bowls off to a man standing nearby.  “Let’s retire.”  He put his hand on the back of Will’s neck, guiding him past the fire and back towards his tent.  “You have a very, very long night ahead of you.”


End file.
